


Here We Are

by TheLoyalFriend



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Children, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Drarry, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Harry/Ginny never married, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage, Mellow Harry, No mpreg, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, PTSD Harry, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-War, Pregnancy, death mention, tags will be added as continued
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoyalFriend/pseuds/TheLoyalFriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary; After the war, Harry made himself a new home. Only, Draco might find this new home something he wants to be a part of too.<br/>Coffee shop-canon divergent. Canon Death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eeek, so this is my first Harry/Draco fic, and I'm not too sure what I'm doing other than having a good time. I hope you like it!! Please do give me feedback and don't be afraid of letting me know if something's amiss or if there are any typo's or spelling mistake. THIS IS CANON DIVERGENT, but all of the death's are the same. I hurts me too, but it's important to Harry, it helped him learn patience and to be who he is now. Harry might seem a bit out of character, but I've chosen to make him very mellow because he's learned through the years that instead of being always on fire, sometimes its best to think carefully. ;;.

A light melody flooded the small store, sneaking into every crook, whispering into the ears of listeners as they perched themselves contentedly in comfortable armchairs that did not match the decorum of the store. Though, no one complained about the mismatched furniture in this store, it was a homey place and everyone felt comfortable. It was a home away from home for any a wizard (and the occasional muggle parent) in a secure corner, almost hidden in an alcove, in Diagon Alley. It was a place to come with a book, pick up a cup of coffee at the counter, and lose yourself to the comfort of the shop.

The shop’s walls and flooring was a soft oak brown, mahogany and chestnut tables, counter made of cedar. The lanterns floated in the air by magic, though some were strung down on sliver cords, and occasional lamps were placed along the armchairs for avid readers who needed a little extra light. There were comfortable wooden chairs placed by the tables, and a few booths with chairs built in, but the corner of the coffee shop that was mostly for those avid readers was centered with a large maroon rug, some lumpy, some worn, and some new armchairs in mixed colors, small round tables to hold up lamps and set places for drinks, and readers, some half asleep, some avidly sipping coffee and flipping their pages.

Thought it was very popular for those who knew about the shop, it was relatively new, only started three years after the war that had ended around seven years ago. The owner was well known in this community, but not many people knew the owner himself was, only those reoccurring customers. But at his own request, those customers did not spread the news around. He didn’t want customers because he was famous; he wanted them because they wanted to be there.

Things were different than what Harry Potter expected. He thought he’d always wanted to be an Auror, since he heard the words back in what, fourth year? He thought that he’d do it forever, because it was what he was used to. He needed to be in the know about everything in the news, he needed to help those around him who needed help, he needed to be the hero, to save everyone. But after the war, he realized, while he saved everyone he could, he didn’t save _himself_ , and it was time to.

Things with him and Ginny got a bit weird shortly after that, they realized how different they were; war changed a lot of things for them. After losing every connection to his parents, after losing the only people who considered family figures, and after losing a piece of his adoptive family, Harry couldn’t take anymore loss. He couldn’t stand to see anymore death, and with the money he’d had from the Potter and Black vaults, and part of the Lupin vaults, he didn’t know what to do. But he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. Voldemort took all the fight he had out of him, and he was too tired of seeing he loved being put underground, and he didn’t want to risk his own life, since Harry was the last tie to Teddy’s family.

Too much money, no ambition, Harry felt like he was floating through life now that he no longer had to worry about Voldemort. Seven years he spent worrying about Voldemort, and then suddenly, he was gone and Harry felt like everything he had been living for was gone. Everyone thing he’d built his life around ended, it has almost been as though Harry’s life ended as well. Only, after a while and many conversations later, Harry realized only a chapter in his life ended, there was still much more to live for, he just needed to find it—and he did. And once he did, he opened the store and made himself a new destiny. He was no longer “The Chosen One” and he would always be “The Boy Who Lived, The Savior of the Wizarding World” but he realized, he would always be “just” Harry. And he could finally be _just Harry_. 

“Harry, are you listening?” Hermione asked as she sipped on the cup of coffee in her hands, a cinnamon latte. She was sitting in an old brown leather chair, feet up and tucked under her, curling into the warmth, this time in December always got cold, and it leaked ever so slightly into the shop.

“Huh?” He asked, blinking at her, and smiled right back at her warm smile. Things between them didn’t change after she got married, only, now she was a bit bigger, expecting her own bundle of joy by the way her stomach had grown within the past four months. She was looking even more beautiful by the day, but Hermione had not lost her connection to Harry, though for a while Harry had been concerned things would be weird, he’d be a third wheel.

“I was telling you about the news.” Hermione said, taking another sip of her coffee, warming her inside and out, “I’m having a girl.”

“Oh my god, Ron must be ecstatic. No, Mrs. Weasley must be ecstatic,” Harry said, a excitable smile on his face as he reached forward ever so slightly, hesitating to look at Hermione nod her head, and placed his hand on her round stomach.

“I thought it wouldn’t happen. Heaven knows we were trying to have a baby for so long, and it’s finally happened. It’s been four months and I’m still trying to adjust to the idea of there being a little person growing in me.” Hermione said, smiling happily and placing her own hand atop of Harry’s, giving it a small squeeze and giggling. “But you would know all about that, wouldn’t you.”

“You’re glowing, Herms,” Harry said, grinning back up at her coyly.

“It’s the lighting,” she giggled again, waving him away from her, before pursing her lips and looking at Harry. “I’m going to tell you something, and I trust you not to become obsessive about it.”

“I don’t obsess about anything, Hermione.” Harry said, giving her a put out look. She raised a made up eyebrow at him and looked around the coffee shop, and he offered her another coy smile. “Oh, come off it. What’s up?”

“Draco Malfoy’s back in the ministry, he’s working in the Department of Magical Equipment Control.” Hermione said, carefully as she watched the look on his face, unsure of what to make of it. Harry schooled his features to be almost blank.

“Good for him, I bet he missed his parents after about five years, the lot of them are close aren’t they?” Harry said, picking himself up and grabbing her cup of coffee, as much as Harry loved magic, he had never gotten out of the habit of doing most things like a muggle would. “You’re not in that department though, how did you know?”

Hermione watched him carefully, not much had to remind her of Harry’s obsession in sixth year, and so she continued carefully. “We had a meeting between the Department of Law Enforcements and Magical Control. We were discussing what potions were being considered red tagged, and how to go about making certain potions stronger and with what ingredients. It was rather interesting, we got into a discussion between the pros and cons of using veela blood in potions and if that should be considered, considering you know, Veela’s are actual—you’re not listening anymore are you?”

Harry smiled at his best friend and kissed her on the forehead. “You want a to-go cup for more or would you like to limit yourself to one cup?” He asked, looking at the clock striking three, Hermione had to go back to work soon.

Hermione smiled at him and shoved her feet back into her shoes, got up, walked over to Harry and leaned on her toes, using his shoulder for balance, to kiss Harry’s cheek. “I’m okay. Dinner tonight? My place?”

Harry grinned at her and patted her head, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He said, watched her leave, and looked at the coffee shop, slipping himself up to sit on the cedar he’d specifically picked out and watched the store, a light aroma of sweet coffee surrounding him, soft music falling back into place around him. This really wasn’t what Harry expected of his life, but he could surely say he had never been happier.

* * *

Harry wasn’t sure if he would call himself very happy, he thought as he floo’d into Hermione and Ron’s flat. He had expected Ginny, Neville, Luna, the usual gang, but he did not expect to come face to face with a handsome dark skinned Italian face that he remembered from all of the Slug Club meetings. One he remembered with mostly distaste. Though, the years had done him well, much as they had done many of the other Hogwart attendants during Harry’s time.

“Zabini.” Harry said, in his attempt to be pleasant.

“Potter.” The Italian man said, a wicked smile placing itself calmly onto his face, “I might have guessed you would have been in attendance for this meeting.”

“Meeting? Oh—good, Ginny. Care to explain what’s going on here?” Harry asked, his eyes never leaving the other man as he spoke to the redhead.

“Harry, you remember Blaise right? From school?” She said placing herself between the two, smiling as though it pained her as she placed her hands behind her back. “ _Well_ remember, how there were rumors in the paper about me and you know,” she let out a curt laugh.

“Ginny! Where did you go—oh, hi Harry.” Ron said, pursing his lips at the tension in the room.

“Ron, I brought you wine, congratulations, a girl.” Harry said lightly, handing his best friend the bottle before looking back at the intruder. “Shall we have dinner? I suppose Hermione’s done with it by now?” Harry asked, allowing his eyes to move away from the unexpected guest and walked calmly into the kitchen, where Hermione was finishing up her dish.

“Oh, Harry, perfect can you grab those and bring them to the dining room.” Hermione asked as she grabbed two of the plates and walked right out of the kitchen, Harry followed suit and placed them down, taking his seat. They all ate in silence, Hermione’s eyes flickering between Harry and Blaise, though Harry did not look off of his plate.

“So—how’s the store going?” Ron asked after taking a sip of water to wash down the chicken in his mouth.

“It’s going well. S’ouse to order new chairs since some woodworms founds their way into a couple of the chairs. Seamus came in today for the first time and fell right through the chair by the window.” Harry snickered at the memory of his old roommate. “You wanna go shopping with me?”

“Oh man, please tell you someone took a picture of that.” Ron snickered, Hermione shaking her head at them, “I can go ‘morrow after work?” Ron said around a mouthful of peas.

“Sound’s good to me, you wanna come Ginny, could use your advice on furniture.” Harry asked, looking at her and smiling faintly.

“I’m engaged to Blaise.” Ginny said setting her fork down, the tension of the situation getting too much for her. Everyone’s eyes turned to Harry. Harry chewed thoughtfully and took a sip of his water.

“I should have brought you wine as well.” Harry said, taking another bite of his chicken, “I wasn’t even aware you were dating, you’ll have to forgive me.”

“Harry, you know—“

“You don’t have to explain anything to me Gin. We decided in your seventh year we weren’t going to work out, and to save our family the heartache of choosing sides, it would be better if we stayed friends. I respected that decision. And I made my own life decisions. No big deal. I’m happy for you. You deserve to find someone you love.” Harry said, looking over to Blaise and offering a smile. “I just hope you’ll treat her right.”

“I couldn’t not. She’d hex me into next year if I tired.” Blaise said a smile on his face as he slipped his fingers in with Ginny’s.

“Then you should be fine. Though, I’d be more worried when the other brothers find out. They might not be as kind. I’m surprised you’re taking it so well, Ron.” Harry said, “he is a _Slytherin_ after all.”

“Well—“ Ron started sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “Gin told me when they started dating, he wasn’t a, you know, and after the war everyone’s opinions changed. Pure bloods were more accepting, didn’t want another, you know, and I wasn’t very happy in the beginning, but then I got to know him and—“

“I get it, Ron.” Harry said, patting his best friend’s shoulder before wiping his mouth with a napkin before slipping out his chair and standing. “Well, I’m finished. You’ll have to excuse me for leaving so abruptly. I must be getting home now.” Harry said, walking over to kiss Hermione’s shoulder and squeezing Ron’s shoulder. “Ginny, I’ll tell him you say hello?”

“O-oh. Yeah. I’ll come and see him tomorrow.” She smiled awkwardly, torn between what to do, though she didn’t seem so sure what it was that she was torn between.

And with that, Harry floo’d back home. The apartment was dark, and the note on his table said that the babysitter had left only moments before Harry had arrived. As soon as Harry had stepped foot into his apartment, a small ball of energy came running at him, and without any hesitation, Harry swooped the child up placed kisses along his face.

“Hello, James, and how was your day?” Harry asked as he held the five year old child in his arms. James cooed and patted his dad’s face.

“I had fun at shool. They ‘aught me to read letters.” James said, nuzzling into his father’s neck. “Teddy came and sat with me at munch time, and then Rory took me to the park and made me lunch and then you came home ‘Addy.”

“Sounds like you had fun, but do you know what time it is now?” Harry asked, eyes glistening as he watched his son’s face drop and he squirmed out of his father’s hold.

“Noooooo. I don’t w’nna take a bath.” James squeaked. Laughing, Harry walked to the bathroom and filled up the water and helped (forced) James out of his clothes.

As James splashed around, Harry couldn’t help but think about his day. So much had happened, Blaise and Ginny, Hermione and Ron’s daughter, and the thing that stuck to him most, Draco Malfoy was back in London. Harry didn’t remember the last time he’d though about Malfoy. He’d remembered about the older Malfoys considering he owed one of them a life debt, but he’d not thought much of the younger Malfoy.

Harry wondered if he too, like many of his peers, had changed a lot. What was he doing at the ministry? Hermione said something, but Harry hadn’t been paying attention. Something about magical control.

“Daaaad. The water’s all cold.” James piped up, catching his father’s attention. Rinsing James off, Harry got his son ready for bed. He didn’t have time to think about Draco Malfoy. Harry had moved on from the person he was at Hogwarts, he had a son now, Draco Malfoy would have to be the last thing on his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated this so fast because of plot bunnies and the fact that I have time. But I wouldn't expect such quick updates as the story progresses (my spring break ends on Sunday :( and back to school and less time). Please let me know comments, questions and concerns. 
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are my own (please feel free to point anything out so I can fix it and make the reading experience better).

             _Ginny sat on her knees, arm crossed over her bare belly and ginger hair cascading down her front, offering a slight bit of covering to her breasts. Her other hand was pressed into the comforter as she bit her lip. Her face was pink, and unreadable, and Harry didn’t know how to react to it._

 _“You can’t do it.” Ginny whispered after a moment of silence. “It’s okay to admit that, that” she said, gesturing to their naked bodies, “was a mistake. I didn’t enjoy it, you_ really _didn’t enjoy it.”_

_“I’m—“_

_“No, don’t apologize, Harry. I think between everything that’s happened, you didn’t even have the chance to realize—that, you know. And that’s okay.” Ginny said, biting her lip awkwardly. “You should probably go.”_

_“It’s my flat—“_

_“Right, so I’m going to—you know.” Ginny said, rushing to get up and put on her clothes, and as she grabbed her shoes, she turned back to look at him from her place at the door. “Listen, I will always love you. Even if you aren’t going to be my—you know. The one. You’re always going to be my Harry. You just didn’t know.” She said, brushing her face out of her face and tugging at the sweater to stop it from choking her. “I don’t think I wanted something committed anyways. Not right now—not after. I don’t want to replace Fred with a boy who’ll never mean as much—not that you don’t. But, you’re like, a brother. I grew up with you.”_

_“Gin.”_

_“Yeah—I’ll go. I love you, Harry. I’ll firecall you later.”_

            Harry looked up at the ceiling, he couldn’t remember the last time one of his dreams felt like looking through a pensive, but, he was more curious to why it was _that_ dream he was visiting tonight.

* * *

Draco Malfoy, on the other end of the spectrum, was not having a fabulous morning. He’d woken up to the same dreamless sleep he’d had since the war ended, rolled out of bed and strolled down his wing in the Manor, to see his mother and father in the kitchen had already eaten without him. Breakfast was over—Draco had overslept.

As soon as that realization sunk into his sleep riddled brain, Draco was out the door, cursing his parent’s cruelty for not waking him, and he disapparated into Diagon Alley. If he couldn’t get breakfast before work, he could still get coffee.

While many people had not known, Draco Malfoy had been back in London for about half a year before taking on his ministry job. Though, for the longest time, he charmed himself to look different. Now that it was already in the papers that he was back in London working, much like his father, in the Ministry of Magic, he didn’t see the point of disguising himself.

Though, he did make sure to go to the store hidden in a crook of Diagon Alley, covered in thick grassy vines, and a crooked sign that read, COFFEE SHOP, that would have been beneath him to enter around eight years ago. Now, it was different. Now, the world was different and he didn’t care as much about certain things. He didn’t care about muggleborns versus purebloods; he didn’t care about half-breeds or blood traitors. Now was a time of peace and tranquility in the wizarding world, and Draco was tired of putting on a devil may cry face.

Pushing through the door, he heard a familiar set of wind chimes that soothed his ears, and took in the smell of the coffee shop. He remembered the first time he stepped foot in hear, none of the furniture matched and it was appalling to look at, but, the more he looked at it, the nicer it seemed for some reason. And today it looked no different (save from a few missing chairs).

“What can I get you?” Chimed a chipper young lady, brown hair tied back into a beautifully elegant pony tail, though there was no uniform, she was given a sleek black apron to wear. Her name was Rory, and she was usually the one to serve Draco his morning coffee, only, now that he looked different, she wouldn’t remember him.

“Large, extra black, two shots of hazelnut sauce, no cream or sugar,” Draco muttered, fighting off an inelegant yawn. Rory gave him a look, since that order was so particular and so familiar, but the girl just shrugged and went to making the coffee like requested. Mornings at the shop were never very interesting, most of the comers were to-go orders, or they would slouch to the back area that looked heavenly comfortable—yet Draco never had the time to stay and figure out how comfortable that lumpy looking black leather chair in the far corner by the fireplace, which had teased him for months, actually was.

Only, when he checked the clock, he noticed he still had another ten minutes before he would be late to work, so maybe he _could_ just sit down, for only just a moment. But as his feet set to moving, a small mass ran right into his leg, giggling and clutching on.

“Owy. S’rry miter.” The young boy said, giggling and rubbing one squishy hand on his forehead as the other hung onto Draco’s pants. Draco held his breath for a moment, those green eyes, the mop of familiar black hair, the twinkle in the little boy’s eyes. It was as though he was looking at a reflection of a certain school nemesis that Draco had been practically careful to avoid.

Harry Potter. Harry ruddy bleeding Potter had been the bane of the aristocrat’s life for most of his existence, and Harry ruddy bleeding Potter was the reason Draco realized a life choice he never thought he’d have to make about himself. Though, maybe he would have realized it later on, but that wasn’t the point.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, leaning down to talk to the small boy whose eyes were wide and deer like.

“M’okay. Are you?” The boy asked, blinking up at him and blessing Draco with a carefree smile, showing tiny teeth white teeth and a set of adorable dimples. Draco wasn’t really one for kids, but this kid was actually so cute Draco’s resisted the urge to coo.

“I’m okay. Where’s your mommy or daddy?” Draco asked, petting the young boy’s messy hair, though once his hand touched the locks, it was as though his fingers got trapped into the mess of hair with no escape possible.

“Up.” The young boy pointed to the ceiling and shook his head and batted his tiny hand at Draco’s, pushing the older man’s hands away from his hair. Up? Up above the coffee shop? Maybe the owner’s kid?

“Here’s your coffee, sir.” Rory said, turning and placing it gently on the counter, only to pause and put her hands on her hip. “James Sirius, didn’t I tell you to stay behind the counter or to stay in your chair. Don’t go causing problems for the customers.”

James Sirius, what a usual name, Draco thought, but he looked at the boy. He looked at James and watched him smile coyly, as though his hand had been in a cookie jar but he knew he was going to get the cookie anyways. But, still, he went back to a small cushioned blue chair that sat right in front of the counter, with a deep red cedar table in front of it, and went back to drawing.

Once the child he detached himself from Draco’s leg, he grabbed his coffee and smiled at his barista. “Thank you.” He said, taking a sip and humming, “perfect.” Though he kept the _as usual_ which was on the tip of his tongue out in his mind. Looking at the clock again, he sighed, he only had a couple of minutes to get to work, and so he walked to the door and opened it.

“’eaving?” James’ voice piped as he looked at Draco with wide green eyes. “No draw with me?”

“I’m sorry, I would, but I’m late.” Draco said, offering a small smile of his own, something he rarely shared with people outside of his own family, and pushed himself through the door.

“Buh-bye miter.” James said almost pitifully, as though his favorite toy had been taken, and it took Draco everything not to turn around and entertain the boy.

* * *

“Malfoy! Why so glum, chum?” asked Lee Jordan asked as he bounded his way over to his partner. Draco sighed over his potion and carefully added a few drops of Veela blood that had been donated to them.

“I’m not glum, Jordan.” Malfoy said, not making a face, Malfoy’s don’t make faces, but if they did, Draco would have been giving Jordan a face. When Draco had agreed to work in Magical Equipment Control, he expected to work by himself creating, advancing, and deciding what should and should not be a red tag potion. That was what he signed up for, not to be annoyed by a Gryffindor he hadn’t even known in school—or rather, one that had always bad mouthed him and his team. (“Come off it, mate. That was in school. You’re not holding a small grudge over school rivalries are you. And you can’t blame me, you were all downright cheaters.” Jordan has said with a laugh, slinging a arm around Draco’s shoulder like they were old friends.)

“Well, then, why so frowny mister clown-y.” Jordan chimed and laughed to himself. Draco wondered why they were made partners, Jordan didn’t know his way out of a potion, but maybe it was because he knew his way around a charm. Potions and charms went hand in hand, and if you could make a potion for something, you could probably make a charm for it. There were many sub departments in Magical Control. Draco worked for potions creation, or at least that what he signed up for.

“You’re just here to get on my nerves aren’t you?” Draco asked, sitting up and raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as he carefully stirred his potion counter clockwise.

“No, I’m bored. I never get to do anything fun in the office,” Jordan said, slipping onto the counter next to Draco and winking. “Before you came along, I could slip into visit George every other day without missing out on getting any work done.”

“George—Weasley?” Draco inquired, though he had changed, his taste of Weasleys had not. Although, Blaise had recently told Draco of his engagement to the youngest Weasel, and Draco wasn’t quite too sure how he felt about being asked best man. He’d still do it, Blaise was his best friend. Though, in their years of Hogwarts they weren’t what you would call close since Blaise had been so judgmental back then, afterwards they had decided they should try to connect more. They had lots in common, and they had lots not in common. They found a balance, it was a very give and take relationship—it was healthy.

“Yep. At Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes.” Jordan said, “We’d used to stop by the Coffee Shop and get free scones with our coffee.”

“The Coffee Shop? You mean the one nestled in the corner of Diagon Alley?”

“Yeah, the one directly across from the store, you ever been? They did such a good job with that place since they opened it around five years ago. Though, I guess he would have wanted something solid to give his son once he was born. A place that they could call home, after spending so long not really knowing what he wanted to do, James was good for him, he was.”

“You know the owner?” Draco asked, leaning back and squaring his shoulders—this was news. As far as he was concerned, he’d never once met the owner. Not many people stayed in the coffee shop in the morning, other than the few who came and slept right away. Sometimes Draco suspected they were homeless, but didn’t stay long enough to care. Jordan narrowed his eyes at Draco, like him asking such a simple question was suspicious.

“You don’t know who the owner is?” Jordan asked carefully, before he busted out laughing when Draco shook his head no. “I guess you’ll have a fun time figuring it out. ‘Ave you met James though? He’s usually around in the morning. He has too much energy his dad usually can’t keep up with him. I don’t know how Rory manages to take care of him _and_ the shop before she sends him off to school around eight. Two hours in the morning. God bless her.”

“She knows how to make my coffee right, so she must be worth keeping around.” Draco snickered before finishing his potion and holding his hand out.

“Why do you always have to use me as a test subject?” Jordan whined as he extended his arm.

“I’m against animal cruelty,” Draco smirked toothily.

* * *

 

"Well, that was right mess. I’m going home. You might as well too, no point working on another potion till tomorrow.” Jordan said, arm splotchy from the attempt to reverse the disastrous effects of the potion Draco had made.

 “It’s only two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been here since like, seven in the morning.” Jordan said, giving Draco a funny look. “Do you actually _like_ working?”

“I like potions.” Draco shrugged, but Jordan was right, the potions station was right mess, and they wouldn’t get about cleaning it until later that night. There was no point in staying. “I suppose I can go do that thing I’ve been wanting to do.”

“Lounge around in one of the armchairs in the back of the Coffee Shop?” Jordan asked cheekily, and Draco threw him an exasperated look, the annoyances of working with a Gryffindor.

“Yes, okay.” Draco said, slightly put out as he crossed his arms. “Can a man not want to comfortably nestle himself in warm leather?”

Jordan gave a short laugh. “We’ve all been there, mate. I guess since you’ve not been around since it’s opened you’re coming a bit late to the party.” He shrugged, “maybe I’ll visit Ron and George.”

“Right then, off we go.” Draco said, turning as they were about to leave the department. “We won’t get in trouble for leaving early, now will we?”

“Nah, it’s nice to see a Slytherin being a stickler for the rules and all, but they won’t care. I’ve left work early a number of times. They only care as long as you’re getting results, even if you’re doing all the work at home. Anyways, you’ve already worked eight hours, seven to two. How late do you _usually_ stay?”

“Like, four or five?” Draco shrugged; potions took a lot of time and care. “And I’m not being a stickler for the _rules_ or anything.” Draco hissed, “I just enjoy what I do.”

“ _Right_ , whatever you say.” Jordan rolled his eyes and stepped into an Apparation point. “See you later!”

Draco waved the other off and got in right after him, apparting into Diagon Alley and making his way to the Coffee Shop. Listening to the familiar chimes again, breathing in the earthy scent of wood and coffee, he walked to the counter, Rory wasn’t there, nor was James, or anybody for the matter. But, Draco didn’t let that discourage him, no; instead, he made a beeline for the black leather arm chair by the fire and sat down. The warmth, the smells of coffee and earth, and the soft tones of music playing in the background, as well as his early morning, easily lulled him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :') I don't know how this went from cute and happy to a bit angsty.

Harry had a fantastic morning. Rolling over he kissed James on the head and bid him and Rory off to school. Waiting another half hour, he rolled out of bed, showered, and saw that Rory left him an egg salad sandwich for breakfast, though; it was only hours away from noon.

He’d eaten his sandwich with gusto as he bounded his way downstairs to bid Afternoon Shift Eddie a good afternoon and sat down in his favorite arm chair (the black, lumpy, and perfectly adjusted arm chair that sat by the fire) and read stories to the small children too young for school. At the end of Harry’s Story Time three little girls and four little boys came up to him to give him a flower (two more than yesterday) and bid him farewell as their parents came for them.

All in all, it was a very relax, very well fed, morning. Even Harry’s dream had left his mind and he was at peace. As much as he could be anyways.

“Eddie,” Harry said, batting his eyelashes lovingly the way he’d learned from James, “can I convince you to say on for a couple more hours? Gotta pick up the new chairs and Rory would be back until three with James. _And_ she’d avada me for making her take morning _and_ mid-afternoon shifts.”

“I have a date with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on and you want me to work,” Afternoon Shift Eddie deadpanned, and then he shrugged, “Not like I was going to get a second date anyways. Guess I could use the extra galleon and seven sickles.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Harry said, nudging Afternoon Shift Eddie playfully as Ron walked in around one-thirty-five.

“Eddie! Did you let Harry charm you into working overtime again?” Ron asked leaning against the counter and winking at Harry.

“You know I did, it’s Harry.” Afternoon Shift Eddie sighed. Harry grinned boyishly as he threw his arm over Ron and ushered him outside.

“C’mon, I wanna try and be back the same time as James. Bye Edward.” Harry waved over his shoulder, grinning wider at the groan that came from his employee behind him.

“Still flirting with ‘Edward,’ are you?” Ron asked as they went through to the muggle side of The Leaky Cauldron on their way to Ikea.

“I’m not flirting, I’m just being friendly. You know, I’m the same way with Rory.” Harry disagreed. Afternoon Shift Eddie, while he was attractive with a mix of oak and chestnut brown hair and hazel eyes, was not Harry’s type.

Or rather, Harry didn’t want to lose a worker. There was also the fact that Afternoon Shift Eddie was barely twenty and Harry wasn’t sure about the maturity level. It was hard for Harry to feel connected to someone younger than him, who didn’t understand the trauma of—. No. He didn’t want to think about it.

“I’ve not even thought of dating since James.” Harry said pointedly, pushing into Ikea.

“You’ve not thought of dating after Ginny. After coming out.” Ron said, leaning into a comfortable chair in the car corner. “I’m happy you’ve been happy where you are. That James is happy; he’s like a son of my own. That Rory’s practically a ci-parent. But, what happens when Rory get married herself, her own kids. Being a single parent’s not wrong, but you’re not even trying.”

“I just find it hard to connect.” Harry frowned as he looked at a burlap chair with blue padding. “And James needs stable. Not daddy dating a bunch of men before finding ‘The One’.” Harry blanched. Ron paused, weighing his words carefully.

“I know how hard it is to find someone who knows about…everything. And that doesn’t hero-worship you. Or want to date you because you’re famous or whatever. But, Harry. You’re hiding yourself. You stay either at home or the store, floo to mine or Ginny’s or the Burrow. But, you don’t let people see you. I know it’s because you don’t want The Prophet flagging you, but, you don’t talk to your _neighbors_. You’ve extended with your store, but you’re still hiding in it. You’ve not even seen Olivander since you had him make sure your wand was still in top condition at the end of the war.” Ron paused to breath.

“It’s been seven years. You don’t even pick up your son from the Muggle School he goes to— where no one knows who you _really_ are.”

Harry paused, hands treading the head of the oak and brown padded chair. Ron was right, Harry knew it, but his friends were so often careful about what they said to him, Harry couldn’t help but to be taken aback.

“Maybe you’re right.” Harry said as Ron let out a breath, “Baby steps. I just need baby steps.”

“I know, we’re all here for you.” Ron said standing up and putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“I know.” Harry smiled and picked up three different chairs, clanging into each other, and clattered his way over to check out to pay.

* * *

Draco felt a weight on his chest. Heavy pressure, but not painful; warm, soft, giggling and patting his face. He groaned and shifted, feeling the weight wiggle around.

“Miter! You’re sitting in ‘addy’s ‘air.” A high pitched giggling voice called out, and Draco sleepily allowed his eyes to open, and a yawn rippled from his lips.

“Hullo, James, don’t you know it’s rude to wake someone who is sleeping?” Draco asked as he ran his hands through the young boy’s messy hair again, was it always this difficult?

“Nope.” James said, batting his eyelashes lovingly as he allowed his small lips curl into a boyish smile. “But, this is ‘addy’s ‘air and he’ll be home soon.”

“ _Daddy_. _Chair_. How old are you anyways?” Draco asked, adjusting so the child was sitting in his lap, rather than digging himself into Draco’s stomach. The chair, Draco noted, sank all around him as though to perfectly hug his body.  

“This many!” James chimed happily as he raised five fingers in the air. “This many in January.” James said as he held up another finger on his other hand. “How many are you?”

“This many.” Draco said, flashing both hands twice, and then only one hand a third time.

“’Addy—D’addy’s that many too.” James said, sounding unsure. Draco snorted, but patted James’ head for trying. “But, ‘addy always sits in this ‘air with me when I get home from shool. He tells me a story an’ gives me juicie.”

“S’that so? Guess I’ll have to move when he comes, but so will you, won’t you?” Draco asked, smiling at the boy.

“James! Daddy’s home.” A voice bounded loud and boisterous, covered by chairs with a mop of tangled looking black hair. James instantly shot up and scampered out of Draco’s lap in a rush, getting shoe dust onto his nice black pants.

“’Addy!” James yelled, scuttling under the chairs and attaching himself to the man’s leg, and Draco felt his heart surge. So, this was the man James called his “‘addy”. Draco wasn’t sure what it was, but he’d known James a day and he felt so connected to the boy.

“Hold on James, we can airplane once I put the chair down in its place,” The gruff yet melodic voice said with a short laugh, walking in large steps, picking up his son who was sitting on his foot as he walked. Once he walked to the place where the chair belonged, Draco caught his breath.

Holy. Fuck.

Harry ruddy bleeding Potter was James’ father.

Shit, shit, he needed to—not be seen right now. He watched carefully as Potter laughed, picked up his son and spun around in circles as James flapped his arms and hands around in the air. Fuck. Fuck—what was Draco _doing_? He _hated_ children. He _hated_ —well no, he couldn’t say he hated Potter, considering Potter’s testimony at the Wizengamot for his family was what kept them all out of Azkaban.

But, still, Draco really didn’t want to be seen by Harry fucking Potter. So, he pulled his deep green cloak around him closer, noting for the first time that Harry and James were both wearing muggle clothes, and tried to shield his face—and his hair. Fuck, why was his hair such a detectable color? Still, Draco tried his best to sneak away, slipping out of the chair very-very ungracefully and walking with a crouch towards the door.

He guessed it was karma, that his favorite coffee shop (and the only coffee shop he actually went to, to be quiet honest. He hadn’t even tried to find a _new_ one) had to be owned by Harry Potter. That and the fact was Draco still owed Potter a life debt, whatever that meant. It was old magic people weren’t even sure if it was still a thing.

“’Addy! ‘Addy, I made a new fiend today.” Draco heard James chime happily as Potter let the child rest in his arms. Potter sported a confused yet pleased face.

“Is that so, James? Tell me more about this, f _rie_ nd of yours.” Potter said, emphasizing the part of the word his son had messed up on.

“I ‘unno his name, but my f-f-freed, fend, _freend_. Wha’eva,” James pouted and Draco snickered at the way James was crossing his arms like the English language offended him for being so difficult, and blessed his lucky stars that the door was merely inches away. “He’s really pwetty blon’ hair. Almost white. He’s nice. He’s _this_ many like you, ‘addy.” C’mon, James, Draco practically screamed in his head, he was practically telling Potter who—.

And right as Draco’s finger tips touched the door handle, Potter looked over his ways and their eyes caught. Well, the cats out of the bag might as well be dignified about it. Draco stood up straight and to his full height, and coughed, letting the hood of his cloak fall flat aginst his back. “Potter.”

“Malfoy?” Potter asked in a confused voice—and Draco wasn’t really sure what to make of the question in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m obviously getting a cup of coffee; this _is_ a coffee shop, is it not?” Draco sneered. James frowned and clutched his father’s neck a little tighter.

“Miter’s being rood!” James chimed, burying his face in his father’s neck, and Draco bit the inside of his cheek.

“Nah, _mister_ , James, Mister Malfoy and I are—friends. From school,” Harry explained, bouncing his son slightly and pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“From ‘Oggywarts?” James questioned as he looked distressed at Draco.

“I should be going. Potter. James.” Draco said, short and with that he slipped out of the shop, not looking back, because, well, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know who James’ father was anymore. Though, he shouldn’t have been so surprised, considering, James looked almost _exactly_ the same as Potter. Like a carbon copy—who did Potter even have a _kid_ with? Was he _married_? Maybe it was with Weaslette, they were dating during the war, weren’t they?

Why did Draco even _care_? The one thing he wanted to do when coming back to London was _avoid_ Harry Potter, not befriend his son! For Christ’s sake, when would his life stop being so complicated? And with that thought in mind, Draco apparated home with a crack.

“Draco, what have we told you about apparating into the living room,” his mother’s voice sounded as he looked up to the kitchen, seems he missed the front door.

“Sorry, I was distracted,” Draco murmured, pulling his cloak off and handing it off to the nearest house elf.

“Bye what, Dragon?” Narcissa asked curiously as she looked up from the book she was reading, she was thinking about starting to garden again, so she was reading up on what would look best together.

“Harry Potter.” Draco said, voice disastrously similar to a young boy who was first discovering himself. “Harry ruddy bleeding Potter owns that coffee shop I like.”

“Language, Dragon.” Narcissa chastised. “Did he bother you?”

“No.”

“Was he mean to you?”

“No.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t know what’s so bad about him. Harry Potter is not a bad person—he’s not my favorite, but he’s not terrible.” Narcissa said coolly, as she watched her son carefully. Draco rolled his eyes.

“He has a son.” Draco said, as though that was the problem with the world.

“Is that a bad thing?” Narciass asked, putting her book down and tilting her head curiously.

“Yes—I like him.” Draco said, with a deep frown as he walked towards his room without allowing his mother to get another word in.

* * *

“’Addy, am I in trouble?” James asked finally. He’d taken a vow of silence since Malfoy had left the shop earlier that evening. Once again, for the second time that day, Harry was taken aback.

“Of course not, James, why would you think such a thing?” Harry asked as he helped his son clean himself in his bath. Today was easy to get James in the bath, and Harry finally understood why.

“Because Miter— _Mista_ Malfoy. He was mean to you,” James said looking down at his hands in the soapy water. “An’ I was playin’ with him.”

“Oh, James, of course I’m not mad at you, you silly creature. I would _never_ be mad at you for that. I love you for that, you’re so kind and loving of people you don’t know. So open to making new friends, never shy away from that.” Harry said, swallowing and thinking back on what Ron had said to him earlier today. Harry—Harry really didn’t set a good example of that for James.

“Promise?” James asked looking up at him with wide green eyes, and Harry smiled and placed a kiss on his son’s wet forehead.

“I promise, pup, I’d never be mad at you about that,” Harry assured, smirking as he dumped a pale of water on his son’s soapy head. “But we should get you cleaned, dried, and to bed for stories as soon as possible!”

James yelped and let out a chime of discomfort at the sudden water, but still was easy to handle the rest of the night, and bed time routines weren’t as messy as they usually were. Harry had James redressed and in bed within record time, kissed his forehead after the story and walked towards the door.

“Hey, dad?” James asked, almost shyly, and it was unusual for him to call Harry dad, rather than daddy. Harry’s hand paused on the handle.

“Yes, pup?” Harry asked, looking back over to his son.

“Can I keep being friends with Mista Malfoy?” James asked, clutching his lion plushy and looking nervously at Harry. “I know you’re not mad at me for talkin’ to him, but, I just ‘anna make sure.”

Harry’s heart hurt for just a second. James, who had not been a part of everything negative in his life, didn’t realize that Malfoy was. Malfoy was a part of the war Harry struggled to forget, and while it’d been so long, while he’d attempted to push their family all the way to the dormant part of his mind, he couldn’t help but allowing flashbacks flood back into his mind. Though, he didn’t blame the _family_ , or, at least two members of it, but it was hard. Everything bad towards the end revolved around the Malfoys. _Sirius’_ —no. Harry didn’t want to think of this.

“Of course you can, James. You can be friends with whoever you want, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Harry attempted to send his son the best smile he could, before whispering _Nox_ and walking out of James’ room. Once the door was closed, he let his back slid down the solid wood and looked at his hands.

_Why_ did Malfoy have to come back? Why did he have to walk into Harry’s stupid coffee shop with his stupid Malfoy-ness? Why did he have to befriend Harry’s _son_ of all the people? It just brought back too many memories Harry had locked away at the end of the war. He didn’t want to think about those things. Those things made Harry want to curl into a ball and wish that he’d never been a part of the entire mess. It’s not like Harry chose to be The Chosen One. It’s not like Harry asked for any of it. But still, here he was, seven years later reliving the war in his head all over again just with the arrival of his childhood enemy.

But, maybe it was for the best? Maybe, for James, it was time Harry finally sorted himself out, thought through the entire war and tried to _really_ save himself. Maybe Ron was right, Harry wasn’t healing himself, he wasn’t saving himself, he was _hiding_ , and he couldn’t—wouldn’t force James to hide with him too. He wanted everything for James. But it was just so damn hard to think about that war. Too many things that caused him to panic, too many things that set him off, and if he chose to forget about them, then it was easier.

But, Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. Just thinking about Lucius Malfoy, one of the reasons why Sirius was—Sirius was dead. Hot tears found their way to his face—he had not cried since the day it had happened. He had felt hollow and empty, and Harry realized, he was still hollow and empty.

The sounds of James’ breathing brought Harry out of his mind. No, he couldn’t be hollow and empty. He had James. Harry needed—Harry wasn’t sure what he needed, and while he was _better_ , he wasn’t there yet. He needed to give James the life he deserved, a father who was willing to be there whenever, regardless of who saw him. Harry needed to be strong. For James.

* * *

Draco turned over in his bed, something unsettling dropped into his stomach. It was unusual, like something had just begun and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It wasn’t negative, not that he could really imagine, then again, after the drop in his stomach the day before he became a—a, Death Eater, nothing could ever feel the same.

But he was sure it had to do with Harry Potter and his son. But, Draco wasn’t sure if he really wanted to be a part of it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had soooooooo many essays to do within the past three days (and I have no clue on how I did on any of them) so I didn’t know when I’d get this chapter out. But here we are. C:

             _Hermione’s cheeks flushed further as she laughed, spinning round and round and round as Ron clutched her hands. She looked beautiful, in the most simplistic ways. Simple, Harry always believed, looked best on Hermione. A simple white wedding dress with a lace trim, highlighting the beautifully done make up on her face and her best assets, eyes shining like jewels, reflecting the red of Ron’s hair. She was barely twenty, he was barely twenty, but they were happy. Hermione knew what she wanted._

_Ron had forgone the pink frilly dress robes and looked dashing in a simple sleek black one, pulling Hermione closer to him when he was done spinning and she was tripping over her feet, dizzy with happiness as well as general dizziness. Harry was happy for them—he was._

_“Can you believe it,_ another _wedding,” Ginny’s voice rang as she came towards Harry’s side, smiling as kindly as she placed her head on his arm._

_“They’re happy. It’s nice.” Harry said, smiling as he didn’t move away or into her touch. “I’m almost jealous.”_

_Ginny paused, looking over to him and frowned, she knew what he was thinking. She always knew what he was thinking. “You have us.”_

_“It’s not the same, and you know it.” Harry said sharply, before he looked down at his shiny shoes. “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. You know I love you like family, you know I love all of you like family.”_

_“It’s just not the same as flesh and blood, I understand,” Ginny said, letting her hand find Harry’s and lace together. “I know I couldn’t give it to you, I know you want it.”_

_“I know, sometimes I try to wrap the thought of every tie left to my parents being gone—and I just. I want that,” Harry said, waving over to Ron and Hermione, back to twirling as they laughed, George, Bill and Charlie dancing around them like the couple was a bonfire and they were reenacting Lord of The Flies. “I want family of my own.”_

_“I wish I could give it to you,” Ginny said, looking at him sadly, pressing her lips into his shoulder, “you know I’d give it to you without you even asking.”_

_“I know—but it’s probably better if you didn’t.” Harry said, squeezing her hand before letting go, “We broke up for reasons. You don’t want to be committed like that, and I can’t be with you like that. I’ll never hate you for it.”_

_“I won’t hate you for it either. I just want you to be happy Harry. I’ve had distractions losing—losing him. I only lost one brother,” Ginny whispered, tears threatening her eyes, “you lost your father twice, and then some.”_

_“I would never hate you for it Ginny. You’re my first actual, honest to god, love.” Harry said, watching Hermione lean into Ron, whisper something that made his face flush, and kiss his neck._

_“You’re mine.”_

* * *

Harry watched as Ginny flew up in the air with James and felt a weight settle heavily in his chest. James looked so happy, floating around in the air, clinging to Ginny as he pondered letting his hands open like a bird in flight.

“Sometimes I think I made the wrong choice,” Harry said as he looked down at Hermione’s baby bulge. She eyes him carefully. “James could have been so much better if I wasn’t his father.”

“Harry,” Hermione spoke careful in a low tone, like talking to a small child before they did something stupid, “What brought this on?”

“Ron told me that I was hiding. I was extending my inner circle, but I was still hiding away from the world. The coffee shop was just to get you guys off my back—and I think he was right.” Harry’s admission sat heavily in the base of his stomach. He loved the coffee shop, James loved the coffee shop, it was their home, but, he didn’t leave it.

Hermione looked at him patiently, putting an arm around her stomach, holding it carefully like it was precious, it _is_ precious. She hummed slightly.

“It’s just. He was right. Rory’s more of a parent to him. She wakes him up in the morning, dresses him, feeds him, _feeds me_ , entertains him, takes care of the store, takes him to school, and picks him up. I just am around. I do things when she’s not there.” Harry said, looking at James, waving slightly when James caught his eyes.

“Harry, you love him. You love him so much, that I know it sometimes pains you to realize you have a family again. You’re not a bad father because you don’t do all those things. You do so many other things. We all know how much you love James, James knows how much you respect him. You’re doing such a great job with him, there are so many other single parents that could be doing worse.” Hermione spoke her words carefully as he stroked her stomach, “I know you haven’t had the easiest time with parents. I know that you were never raised in a healthy environment. But, Harry, in the past five years with James, if you weren’t doing a good job, I probably would have stolen him from you in the middle of the night.”

Harry paused, watched as James happily flapped his arms around now that he was a bit more confident. He was pressing one hand against the broom as he attempted to stand, Ginny placing a hand carefully on his waist to steady him. Harry felt his breath hitch, what if James fell? What was she thinking?

“Gin, don’t you think it’s time you two come down now?” Harry called, nervously chewing his bottom lip.

“Don’t be such a worrywart spoilsport!” Ginny called with a short giggle as she looped her arm around James’ waist as he wiggled around. Harry was going to kill her—he was going to—look at Hermione’s face and tilt his head.

“See, you’ve just proved my point right there,” Hermione said, moving closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder, “you’re a parent, Harry. A good one at that. But—I do agree. You’re hiding in the shop. It’s not a bad thing; it’s amazing to see you’ve made more friends that you’ve trusted more than me, Ron, Ginny and all the other Weasley’s with him. You just need to take your time, and no one’s mad at you for recovering.”

“What if James’ needs me and I’m not there. What if I’m too busy hiding that I’ll never be able to protect James like I should be,” Harry asked, breathing a sigh of relief as Ginny and James descended and he bounded towards Harry’s leg. Harry bent down and plucked James from the ground, hoisting him up in the air and placing kisses all over his face when he came back down.

“If you’re thinking about it, Harry, you already know the answer.” Hermione said, watching the interaction with a smile. “You’ll be there. You just need the incentive to change.”

Harry looked over to Hermione as he balanced James’ on his hip, Harry always held James if he had the chance, the feeling of solid flesh and blood that was his own was a more powerful tether to reality than Harry ever realized, and gave her a questioning smile.

"What made you think about this, other than Ron,” Hermione asked, holding a hand out to take James, Harry moved away from her.

“He’s over twenty pounds, ‘Mione, you shouldn’t be holding him,” Harry said, placing James on the ground because he was trying to slip away already, “James made a new friend recently.”

"Did he now?” Hermione asked as he watched James sit in front of her feet and play with her shoelaces.

“Mmhm, Aunt ‘Mione.” James confirmed, tugging the shoelace loose and flimsy rather than the perfect loops, “’Aco Malfoy.”

“Draco, James, what have I told you about your annunciation,” Harry corrected.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she was surprised or amused.

* * *

Harry, for one thing, wasn’t sure how he ended up at a bridal store with his very cranky, very demanding of juice, son with him at eight-thirty-two in the morning on a Sunday. But the more he thought on it, the more he remembered Ginny saying she didn’t want a  _traditional_ brides maid since girl’s idea for a bridal shower was never as fun as a man’s bachelor party, so she’d enlisted Harry as her Man of Honor, because she was Ginny and she could do what she wanted. He instantly regretted saying yes, but he also realized, Hermione would be too tired to keep up with Ginny, and no one else would be willing after half the night would be finished.

But the title of Man of Honor came with all the perks of the traditional Maid of Honor, so here he was, sitting down with James’ feet on his knees, trying to sooth his crabby son. The Potters refused to wake up before ten on Sunday’s, for it was illegal according to James, and Harry fully agreed with his son. But, it was also _Ginny_ , and he had to prove that they were okay. The woes of friendship with an ex.

“How does this one look?” Ginny asked, Hermione was her first choice to come, Harry allowed Ron to tell him before he was whisked away, cranky with the promise of coffee. But Hermione had a doctor’s appointment, and Harry was Ginny’s reluctant next choice (the Harpies practices on Sunday’s, but they gave Ginny off since she couldn’t find another day to do her dress fitting).

“I like it better than the last one, but not better than the first one,” Harry droned out, tired, placing a kiss on James’ nose and then his eyes.

“Really? The first one made me look fatter though, this one hides my stomach better,” Ginny said, looking at herself in the mirror.

“Really, why would I lie to you, Gin? Anyways, you’re not fat. You work out too much to be fat, if someone’s calling you fat, they’re lying.” Harry pretended to eat James’ fingers once James put them towards Harry’s mouth.

“Okay, I’ll try that one on again,” Ginny said, grabbing the dress and walking back towards the barricade. He was excited for Ginny, don’t get him wrong, but the two had set the date for the wedding so early (apparently Blaise had to go out of state for four months after their honeymoon—or something like that). That gave Ginny two months, since she liked to work fast. Ginny was always fast paced, which was something Harry always liked about her. She never beat around the bush, when she wanted something, she went and got it.

“How does Malfoy feel about it? You’re a _Weasley_ and you’re marrying his best friend,” Harry asked, no, he didn’t really care, of course not, but if Malfoy was going to destroy Ginny’s wedding, Harry wanted to be prepared with a good hex just in time to save the festivities.

"Well, before I actually got to, you know, know him—meaning the first two months of me and Blaise dating, he did hate me. I guess as much as a person can change, they never really change their feelings about people, and so he tormented me. More verbal, but of course I didn’t let him treat me like that, and I gave him a tongue lashing right back. I guess between the fighting and the fact that he’s a Harpies fan, _and_ the fact that we both care about Blaise, we put our hatred for each other aside. He’s a right git, but he’s not that bad once he actually tries to be friendly.” Ginny said, walking out from behind the dressing barrier and stood in front of the mirror and sighed. Flattening her hands against the elegant dress, she pursed her lips and thought.

“Veil—or no veil.”

“Well, seeing as how you’re not a virgin, I don’t see the point of the veil.”

“Harry!” Snickering, Harry barley ducked out of the way at the stray pillow flung at his head, held James into his chest, and laid down on the little sofa.

 “But, do you trust him?” Harry asked, sleepily as he watched James’ tantrum end with the fact that the small boy was falling asleep.

"Do I trust him? Not as far as I can throw him. But am I learning to? Sure. Blaise is my— _husband_. Draco is his _best friend_ ,” Ginny said, sitting down at his feet and pulling James’ shoes off. “Think about it this way. If Ron hadn’t married Hermione, even if you _hated_ the girl he was marrying, wouldn’t you at least try to like her? For Ron?”

Harry took a second to think. The idea of Ron and Hermione not being together was as foreign to him as the concept of having parents. In some respect, Ron and Hermione served as his parents. But once he got passed that, he thought, “For Ron, I’d probably do anything.”

"And Draco’s the same.” Ginny smiled, patting James’ bottom. “We need to get him a suit too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you, if you’re reading this, you know what’d be cool? To leave a comment with a question, concern, plot idea? Anything! Feedback is a writers best friend, and never be afraid to correct any small mistakes! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

“I used to think the world was black and white. If something was some way, it was meant to be that way and would be that way. It was a final choice. But then, things change, and back then things weren’t supposed to change. At least not like that. Yeah sure, a pimple here or there—but a fucking war? You’re not supposed to be sixteen and thrown into a war without your consent.

I used to think that black was Death Eaters and white was the Order of the Phoenix. Good and bad, good and bad, and I was always on the wrong side. If I went with he-who-must-not-be-named I was against boy-wonder. But if I went with boy-wonder, I would be against he-who-must-not-be-named, and either way—I ended up screwed. It was one or the other, but either was a losing battle.

Maybe my father had the right idea, maybe keeping me out of London from the start would have made my life easier, but then, here I am, in London, surrounded by a bunch of red. I guess the world really isn’t black and white, but I’ve lost my sunglasses and can’t seem to adjust to the color.”

“—I don’t think this is pleasant conversation, Malfoy,” Potter said, shoulders tensed, arms clutched into fists on his pants legs. Draco couldn’t remember why he was here—scratch that, the brandy in his hand was self-explanatory.

Free booze.

“What’s wrong, Boy-Wonder? Didn’t get enough shine after the war and you’ve gone shy?” Draco teased, blinking his eyelashes flirtatiously, even though he had not said one flirtatious thing.

“I just don’t think you should be talking about that—here,” Potter muttered, the brown haired girl—what was her name again, right, right, Granger. The muggleborn. Granger grabbed Potter’s hand and eased out the tension lines, flattening it against his knee, and Draco felt himself frown even deeper. He—didn’t like that.

“Why not? We’re all survivors. I think we’re old enough to share horror stories without having nightmares, Potter. Or do you still get them?” Draco asked, curiosity sown into every hike of his perfectly groomed eyebrow as it rose. That was, curious. So, curious. 

“Why are you here?” Potter said sharply, Ginny on his other side grabbed his stomach and frowned deeply at him. Potter was always surrounded by girls—but where was Potter’s girl? James’ mother.

“I’m the best man,” Draco said pointedly as Blaise slipped in next to him.

“Neville and Luna just arrived,” Blaise said, pushing Draco towards the next seat to free the last two at their round table at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Oh wonderful, the corral. Tell, did you invite Pansy? Goyle? Nott? Anyone I can actually get on with, or are you the only person I am able to tolerate at this table tonight?” Draco asked, looking over at Blaise, ignoring the circle around him. What a fucking bad idea, this wedding party, party.  Suit-tailoring, bachelor party, cake testing, dance lessons, everything Draco didn’t want to do with any of these people, and yet here he was, doing them. The things he did for his best friend.

“You can’t stand any of them either, Draco,” Blaise pointed out, staring at the cup in his hand, “How much has he had to drink already?” He asked the Weasel girl, which, was blatantly rude of him.

“About four full cups of brandy and I think a shot of whiskey,” Ginny said shooting a look between Potter and Draco. How, unfortunate to be on the other side of the table, maybe if Draco and Ginny would switch they’d be on both their perspective right side of the table.

“Draco doesn’t like whiskey. Must have been vodka. He gets honest, when he drinks vodka,” Blaise said with a sigh, “of course you’d get drunk, now.”

“Of course you’d surround us with only Gryffindor’s. What distasteful company,” Draco said, finishing the glass and setting it on the table with manners that had been ingrained in him for years.

“I’m not a Gryffindor,” said a voice from behind him, and thus Draco turned—oh. That was the loony girl—Lovesomething. Loony Lovesomething.

“Luna, Neville,” Hermione said, standing up and allowing Longbottom to walk over and hug her, ask her questions about the baby, blah, blah, blah, Draco was trying to block everything but the color of Potter’s eyes out. Because, fuck, if there was one thing he never grew out of in sixth year, it was how much he loved the color of Potter’s eyes.

“Malfoy, you should go home, you’re smashed,” Potter’s voice cut, edgy, like something was bothering him—what would be bothering him? _Everyone_ loved him.

“I like to think I’m perfectly fine, this evening. I also like to think I know my own limitations, thank you very much, Perfect Potter, for watching out for my wellbeing. You’re still such a hero,” Draco said, fake swooning. If he ordered another drink, he knew he’d regret it in the morning, but the urge at this moment was too strong. No one was talking to him without force, Blaise was _trying_ to befriend the table of do-gooders, and Potter’s eyes looked cloudy and absolutely not thrilling.

“Draco, would you like some water?” was asked politely as a chair on his other side was suddenly occupied. What a—interesting development. Draco could get behind Ravenclaws, at least they had the brains to keep up with him.

“Isn’t that a bit informal?” He asked, accepting the water that was passed to him, he was still thirsty, even if it wasn’t alcohol, though, maybe he should keep drinking and cause Blaise’s bill to go even higher. He wasn’t feeling particularly cruel that evening.

“I feel like after being locked in your basement for so long, we should be past formalities,” Luna said—was she always so, straight forward? Draco couldn’t remember—but he was pretty sure she didn’t have a filter. “Anyways, you always brought us extra food, so, you’re not so bad.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Oh, did he say that aloud? Blaise was right, Vodka made him honest and brandy made him talk.

“Why, thank you?” she asked with a careful smile on her face, but it wasn’t bad. She was kind of pretty when she smiled—maybe if she was a boy too. That would be nice, but, Draco frowned. More blond hair—deeper blue eyes—they just seemed wrong.

“Of course, but, do tell, how do you put up with this group of misfits? They seem so—so,” Draco didn’t even know the word, but if he was sober, he’d probably had gone home by now.

“They’re not so bad once you get to know them. Maybe you should try,” Luna said, tilting her head finding the entire thing amusing. Right—right! That’s what it was, Luna reminded him of his mother. What an interesting comparison, further data required.

“I’d conquer, but, I guess seeing as how you do know them, you might know a little bit better,” oh, did he just admit to being wrong about something? No—no, he admitted to someone else being right. Maybe he _should_ go home.

“Drink.” Luna said calmly, grabbing another stray glass from the table, everyone around them happily pretending that Draco wasn’t there, and Draco doing the same. Only, once he took a sip and looked at the other side, Potter’s eyes were still trained on him as he talked to Ginny.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Draco said loudly enough for everyone to hear, and while Draco was talking, he wasn’t really projecting. Everyone turned to him and grunted, going back to their own conversations. Whatever. He was needed elsewhere.

The bathroom was nice, the tile was cool and the water was cool and Draco was just—really hot. Too hot, too stuff, he should go home. But, he didn’t trust himself to floo or apparat, how was he to get home? Right, he was supposed to stay at Blaise’s, but, he didn’t know how to get there on his own walking. All he knew was that the house was somewhere on the wizarding side.

“Malfoy?” Potter’s voice rang, and Draco pooped his head out from under the faucet—oh, that’s why his head was cold.

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Whose James’ mother?” Oh—that wasn’t what he meant to answer.

“Excuse me?” Oh? Potter’s voice raised an octave. An ex-girlfriend maybe, how—scandalous.

“I’ve been curious, since I realized you were his dad. I mean—he looks exactly like you, a carbon fucking copy. God, but he’s such a great kid, Potter, and I _hate_ children with such a passion. But, I don’t. I actually _like_ James and it messes with me. Why the fuck do I like your kid of all the fucking kids in the world?”

“He doesn’t have one.” Was said sharply, defensively, like someone would take James away from him, who would even _try—_ no, who would even _dare_ to take James away from He Who Saved The World Twice. God, Harry Potter was such an asshole.

“Of course he does, unless you produced him asexually like a plant,” Draco said, giving a putout face—wait, Malfoy’s don’t make faces.

“It doesn’t matter who she is. She was around for his birth and then she wasn’t around anymore. It’s none of your business,” Potter said, less defensive, with a heavy sigh, and Draco—yeah, if James’ hair was anything like Potter’s, Draco wanted to run his fingers through it—maybe he should. Oh, yeah, he totally should. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh,” Draco giggled, stepping closer, Potter was shorter than him—oh, that was kind of cute. Shorter boys. “I’m just testing a theory,” he said, threading his fingers through Potter’s hair and humming almost pleased.

“What’s that theory?” Potter asked, almost finding the situation amusing—almost, but there was still a line of tension in his shoulders that went against the amusement in his voice.

“If James also has your hair, but, yours, while just as messy, is much—much softer,” Draco hummed, wiggling his fingers in the thick, messy, black hair. “And—it sucks fingers up without second thought as well.”

“Malfoy, you’re so drunk right now, I don’t even know what to do with you,” Potter said, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“I have about a hundred things in my head about what I want to do to you,” Wait, that was real flirting, so he should follow it up with a smile—a coy one. Yes, the one that always got him the extra discounts when he bought groceries. Potter gulped—oh, interesting. Not so straight, are you, Potter?

“Malfoy—what are you doing. What are you really doing right now?” Potter asked, voice low—they always had conversations like this in the bathrooms didn’t they. Only, no. Last time Potter was trying to make Draco white, when he was black. And that ended up with Draco slashed into pieces. Draco remembered wanting to do something similar then too—it was so tense, so scary. At that moment, Draco wanted to be saved too—but he had more important things to think about, his family.

“What I’ve been wanting to do since sixth year,” He whispered, oh, there was the brandy again. What a naughty, naughty drink.

“I think you might want to stop talking,” Potter said, as he placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder to steady him, “We hate each other.”

“Do we, Potter? Do we really?” Draco asked, pursing his lips and taking a full step back, “because I’ve not seen you in seven years. I can’t say I hate a man I barely know anymore. I can’t say I’ve hated you for a while. I can say I was jealous of you, I wanted to _be_ you at a point, and I’ve had a general dislike for you—for rejecting my friendship, for putting my father in jail, but I wouldn’t go so far to say I hate you.”

“Malfoy, you might want to shut up. I don’t want to hear this while you’re drunk,” Potter said, taking a step forward and balancing Draco who was swaying once again. Hmm, he was getting sleepy. Sleep would be nice.

“I wish I would have gone with you in sixth year,” Draco said, staring to Potter’s eyes. Oh, there they were the green he was looking for. “I just wanted—needed to protect my family. I couldn’t be self-sacrificing like you. I was a coward.”

“Malfoy, you did what you thought was right,” Potter’s voice sounded tight, and his body was warm. Draco felt his eyes shut and his body fall limp, but not to the ground.

* * *

“James Sirius Potter! I told you to be quiet!” Harry said as he looked exasperatedly at his son. “We have a guest sleeping in the guest room.”

“A guest?” James asked curiously, as he put down the pot he was tapping a tune out to with one of George’s fake wands.

“Not sleeping anymore,” Malfoy said as he slithered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen area, probably followed the sounds of James’ drumming. “Before I ask any other questions, hang over potion?”

“And a glass of water on the counter,” Harry said, giving Malfoy an amused look, as he drank the potion in one go, then the water without hesitating.

“Mista? What’cha’doin’ here?” James asked curiously, looking at Harry for a moment before pursing his lips.

“He’s my guest, he stayed over last night,” James stared at Harry wide-eyed ad Malfoy, too tired to say anything slipped into the bar stool that usually Harry sat in on their island in the kitchen. “I told you, James, he’s my—err friend.” Malfoy coughed.

“Yep. G’morning James.” Malfoy said over a yawn and put his head on the cold table. Harry placed two plates on the island, one for James and one for Malfoy.

“Breakfast? Thought you’d like something greasy.” Harry said coyly as he pushed the plate over, sunny side up eggs, bacon, toast and sausages. Malfoy blanched ever so slightly before grabbing a fork almost concerned. “Oh, yeah, grease and poison, sorry I forgot.”

“Ha, ha.” Malfoy said, watching James’ eat happily after Harry picked him up and placed him in his lap. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry whispered, grabbing a napkin and wiping James’ mouth for him when it got too messy. “You done, kiddo?”

“Yep. Is Rory ’ere today?” James asked, as he put the fork down and climbed to stand on Harry’s lap, placing his hands on each of Harry shoulders.

“Nope, it’s me and you today kiddo. I was thinking we could get some stuff at the store, and then go around Diagon Alley together. Then maybe on the way back, we can get a Christmas tree. You’re on break; we should start setting a thing up now—heaven knows we’re about three weeks later than everyone else.” Harry said, Malfoy said nothing as he quietly continued to eat his food.

“We’ve always done Christmas a ‘it late, ‘Addy.” James said, climbing down Harry’s leg and to the floor, smiling happily at the idea of spending all day with his dad. “Can we go now?”

“In a bit, we need to let Mister Malfoy finish his breakfast,” Harry said, watching Malfoy freeze.

“Am I—supposed to be coming with you?” He asked carefully around a mouth of eggs.

“No, you’re welcome to, but you’re not supposed to,” Harry said casually, “Though I’m almost tempted to ask you about last night.”

“Please—don’t.” Malfoy said, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth without really thinking about it, getting bits of egg on the side of his mouth, stood up and tipped his imaginary hat. “Thank you for housing me when I was unconscious, forget everything I said and did last night, I regret making you make me breakfast and this entire situation—and I’ll hopefully never have to really see you again in a social A and B type event. Thank you, and goodbye.”

Malfoy paused as he looked around the kitchen, biting his lip uncertainly and Harry rolled his eyes, “Floo’s over there, Malfoy.”

“Right—goodbye.” And with that, Malfoy was gone.

“Are we st’ll doin’ th’ngs together?” James asked as he shoved his jacket on him, hair still not brushed, though his teeth were. He was still wearing bunny slippers.

“You don’t expect me to carry you the entire time do you?” Harry asked, eyeing his son’s footwear, and James grinned boyishly and fluttered his eyelashes. “You know, James, one day you’re not going to win, and that’ll be the end of it.”

“Of cou’se, dad.” James said, reminding him so much of all the times that Ginny told him, the same words (substituting dad for dear). Harry shook his head, he needed to stop letting James spend so much time with Ginny.

“Off we go? Lemme pick up some coffee samples, okay.” Harry said, as he walked downstairs, his son in his arms, and Rory half asleep behind the counter. He—kind of liked this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always loved.
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd so all the mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out and I'll try to fix them in a timely manner.


	6. Chapter 6

_“Mr. Potter?”_ _Harry looked up at the call of his name, fingers thread together so tightly his knuckles were white. “Mr. Potter? There you are Mr. Potter!”_

_“Yes, that’s me,” Harry chimed, standing up and walking over to the doctor, pursuing his lips, they had no choice but to go to St. Mungo’s. They’d just been getting dinner, a small bistro away from the Leaky Cauldron, but not too far, and all of a sudden something went wrong. “Is… is the baby okay?”_

_The doctor paused, looking up from his charts. “The baby’s fine. The mother might not be.” He said, Harry’s throat constricted, “she’s lost a lot of blood.”_

_“I. Please don’t tell me you’re about to ask me to make a choice.” Harry asked, looking at his hands, crescent shaped nail marks in the palm of his hands._

_“No, we managed to save them both. But it might not be safe for her to have the baby. There are many risks; she’s not doing very well physically.” The doctor said, but he paused and looked at the charts again before sighing, “But it’s already this late in the pregnancy. In another two months the baby’s due. Your… Miss—“_

_“Did she say she wants to abort the baby?” Harry asked heart in his throat as he looked at the doctor with wide eyes._

_“Yes. But you’re as a part of this decision as she is.” The doctor said, frowning and putting the chart to his side._

_“I— can’t. Isn’t there any way that we can take the baby out and magically give him the next two months of labor without—without killing him, killing my son?” Harry asked, voice barely a whisper._

_“It’s risky, very risky. The likelihood of it working is about forty percent. But if Miss—“_

_“I don’t care what she wants. I don’t care if she wants to abort him; he’s my_ son _, my child. I can’t lose him, not now, not when I haven’t met him.” Harry said, his voice shallow and weak, “Do whatever you can to save him. Just please don’t—please don’t abort him like he’s nothing. He’s everything.”_

_“We’ll do our best, Mr. Potter. It’s all we can tell you.”_

* * *

 

Harry paused at Olivander’s Wand Shop. Flourish and Bolts, The Apothecary, even _Gringots_ was easy for him. Yes, Harry had taken James and went door to door offering coffee samples and taking Hermione and Ron’s advice, finally. He let himself be known, at least to his neighbors.

James has been a tether between a teenager going around Diagon Alley, and reality. Most of all, Harry was surprised at how welcoming everyone was to him, even the goblins gave him as much of a smile that goblins could offer.

But, Olivander’s was different. Olivander was another reminder of the hardships of war, a _real_ war reminder. Of what his wand was; a brother.

“’Addy, are we going in?” James asked, standing on Harry’s shoes so he wouldn’t get his house slippers dirty.

“Yeah give me a moment, James, please,” Harry said. Gringots should be harder than this, he stole a fucking dragon there, but it wasn’t. Finally, after another beat, he pushed the door open.

“’Ullo!” James called at the empty rows of wands, walking swiftly across the wooden flooring, “We’re ‘rom The ‘Orner!”

“Hello?” Harry heard Olivander ask politely as he made his way towards the counter. “Oh! Mister Potter. Are you here for a wand? He—” looking down at James, “—seems a bit too young for one.”

“I’ve just been going around the neighborhood,” Harry said, lifting James into his arms, “I’m the, uh, owner of the coffee shop. Thought I’d offer free samples, be neighborly.”

“Oh my? Is that so? I’ve had a cup or two before, absolutely lovely coffee, Mister Potter.” Olivander said, accepting the bags of coffee beans James dropped on the counter. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Harry said, offering a small smile, “Of course.”

“It’s nice to see you after all this time, Harry. Come back whenever you want,” Olivander said, smiling back kindly.

“I’ll be off then. I’ve got to get James some real shoes.”

“Well then, I’ll await your next visit.”

* * *

 

Draco didn’t know how he felt when he saw it. The sign board was classy, oak wood, a design etched into the edges. But, it made the coffee shop, hidden away in its concave, less hidden—less secret. Maybe it was second hand pride, Ginevra was always telling Blaise, who in turn told him, that Harry was hiding in his work. Literally.

But now, there was a sign, with a dumb soup-of-the-day / coffee combo title: _Eat Your Heart Out, Seamus Finnegan_.  Draco offered an elegant snort.

Pushing past the sign, Draco opened the door and paused. Literally a day ago the shop was full of warm wood and chairs, pictures and portraits. But, today, it was like Christmas threw up and then waited an hour before throwing up again. A large tree nested right by the lovely black leather chair chair, fire place hanging four stockings messily made with glitter with the names, _Rory, Eddie, James,_ and _Harry_ scrawled on with inelegance.

“Mista!” came James’ high pitched voice, and Draco leaned down to pick up the child without hesitation. “D’addy and I had the BEST two days! We went allllllll around ‘Iagon Alley passin’ ‘offee and jokes. And today we went to Leaky fo’ pancakes, Mista! Pancakes! I love Pancakes!” James chattered on and on. What a change, Ginevra would be proud, yes, Ginevra.

“How about—“ Potter’s voice came, booming and happy, scooped his son out of Draco’s arms and to the floor, “You put on a jacket like I told you. Aunt Hermione is coming to get you remember.”

“Yes!” James chimed, looking at Potter like he didn’t want to spend a single moment away from him. “Do you think Aunt ‘Mione will buy me punk’n pasties?”

“Not a chance. Try anyways.” Potter smiled, running a hand through James’ hair.

"Potter.”              

“Malfoy.” Potter flashed him a—dare he say it—charming smile. “The usual?”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, looking into cool green eyes that flashed with amusement, “Oh. Oh! Coffee. _Yes_. Because that’s why I’m here. For my coffee.”

“Extra black,” Potter called, lips curling into a grin, “two shots of hazelnut sauce, no cream or sugar, large. On the house.”

Rory looked at Draco, confused before a smile of her own came to her face, “No prob, boss.”

“I can pay, Potter.” Draco deadpanned, and Potter’s grin grew.

“Friend’s don’t pay.” Potter said, and Draco felt prickly.

“I don’t recall us being friends,” Draco said, eyes narrowing, glancing at James who was sitting on a set of stairs behind the counter, waiting for Granger probably.

“I don’t hold just anybody’s hair back while they puke, and then let them stay at my house where my son is available to them without much effort of rousing his curiosity,” Potter said. The urge to punch him square in the jaw was building, “anyways we should talk about what you said. About sixth year.”

Harry Bleeding Ruddy Potter, then had the galls to smile sheepishly and pass him his coffee.

“I told you to—“ Draco paused by Potter putting his hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“That’s nice, Draco, you’re going to be late for work. I’ll see you at the fitting.”

“What?” Draco asked, dumbfounded for a brief moment, “Shit.”

* * *

 

“James fell asleep on the way here, and it’s best not to wake him up because he’ll get way beyond cranky, and a cranky child is not what any of us need right now,” Harry said, fumbling to find a piece of paper in his trousers while balancing his son on his him, but he eventually pulled a piece of paper out and handed it over, “but Rory gave me his measurement’s here.”

“That’s perfect. Do you know color? Cut?” Blaise asked, staring at the paper in his hands like it was the key to the universe.

“Uh. I thought you picked that and I was just here for sizing.” Harry shrugged sheepishly and sat down with his son nestled in his lap, snoozing away.

“Useless, Harry, absolutely useless!” Blaise spoke with conviction as he walked over to the tailor and discussed possible options for a good suit for a ringer bearer.

“Shh, James is sleeping!” Harry hushed as he watched Blaise step away, only to turn and looked at him with annoyance.

“Bite me, Scarface,” Blaise said and Harry stared at him, not necessarily shocked, but partly amused. “Sorry, we’re not close like that.”

“It’s okay. I guess we’ll eventually have to get close, or Ginny will murder the both of us,” Harry said, patting James’ back. Blaise gave him a sympathetic look before going back to his work.

Harry sat down and lightly patted his sleeping son soothingly. James had been so—so happy the past few days. It’d been amazing, a dream. Nothing like when he’d lived with Hermione and Ron and didn’t know _how_ to take care of James as a baby—as a single parent. But now, James was so independent in his own ways, he lead children around at school according to Rory. A natural leader—just like his father. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing, but, it was James and James always found his way around trouble. And if there was no other option, he knew he was cute enough to get away with most things—the bugger. Harry smiled softly, pressing kisses onto James’ forehead. Maybe if James stayed this age forever, then Harry would be content. James was always so happy, hardly anything ever brought him down. If there was anything he dreaded, it was when his son had grown into a teenager, because if James’ rage was anything like Harry’s—well, he could hope not.

“Blaise wants you to go in for measurements.” A light voice said simple, slightly as though they were grudging to talk to Harry at all, and Harry was okay with that. He pressed another kiss on James’ sleeping form before looking into brilliant grey eyes. Harry wondered what James would look like with green eyes.

“Okay. I was hoping James’d wake up by then. I don’t want to leave him alone.” Harry said, standing up and lifting his son carefully. James had been so over excited the past few days with how much time he and Harry were spending, that he’d barely been able to sleep at night. Maybe Harry was neglecting him—maybe Harry was hiding from his son as much as he was hiding from everyone else. He just didn’t think he could stand himself if James woke up one day and realized how much of a coward Harry really was—how much of a disappointment.

“I can take him. If you want. I understand if you don’t.” Draco said awkwardly, shuffling a foot before crossing his arm over the other and biting his lip. The things Harry thought about doing to those lips in sixth year—whenever he saw Draco. The things he’d stopped himself from doing.

“I—if you don’t mind. If he wakes up tell him, I’ll see him soon. He’s been clingy because he’s afraid I’ll stop spending as much time with him again.” Harry said, slightly ashamed to think of such things.

“Why—I’d expect you to coddle your son and never let him out of your grip, seeing as how you, you know.” Draco said, walking over and holding his hands out for James, speaking in a low whisper, a way that a parent would know how to do.

“I was afraid I’d never be good enough for him. Never be good enough to be his father.” Harry said, passing James over and brushing some of his hair out of his face. “And now I’m trying to prove to myself I’m wrong. I guess I’m not as perfect as you always expected me to be.”

“Potter—Harry?” Draco asked for him as Harry began to walk through the door to the other room. Harry turned around with an eyebrow raised in a silent yet. “I—never mind.”

“James’ mom tried to abort him because she could have died if she kept him. I forced her to keep him, kind of. It’s complicated.” Harry said, finally answering a question he’d never thought he’d ever answer to Draco Malfoy. A question he’d never expect Draco Malfoy to ask. “You didn’t know her. She was a muggle.”

“Did you love her?” Draco found himself surprised to ask as much as Harry was surprised to hear it.

"No. She was just a means of getting a son for me. A surrogate. I’m not very inclined to be into women like that, it seems.” Harry answered before whisking himself away into the dressing room to be sized and figure out the cut and color of the suit. Matching for him and his son, while also matching to the dresses Ginny wanted for her brides maids.

* * *

 

Harry wasn’t sure what made him honest—or open, or anything like that, he reflected. James sat on the island in the kitchen, drawing pretty little pictures of lines that only made images to children. Harry ran his hand through James’ hair as he watched.

“’Addy?” James asked, putting his crayon down and lacing his fingers together atop his picture, looking much older than someone his age.

“Yes James?” Harry asked, leaning his elbow onto the island, showing his amusement to his son, but treating him with the utmost respect and love as he would any other adult (maybe minus the love).

“I think you and Mista Malfoy should have more sleep overs. You’re always in a ‘ood moo’ when he’s around. He makes you make jokes and be more f’nny.” James said, seriously, screwing his face up like he wanted to make a very serious face but only happened to look comical instead.

“Is that so, James? Or do you just want to spend more time with him?” Harry asked, running his hand through his son’s hair with a laugh of amusement.

“Both?” James said hopefully, bright and childlike again.

“Go wash up for dinner.”

“Never!” James said as he hopped down the stool and bounded down the hallway, avoiding the spider whom had been living in the house for a couple of months that he’d named Everett.

Harry would have many regrets in his life, he thought, but James would never be one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, sorry this took so long--I hope to update more? I'll try! I'm sorry;;. I have a vague idea of where I'm going.
> 
> Still unbeate'd so sorry for any/all mistakes. 
> 
> Replies and such are graciously appreciated. :")


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